Madeline swallowed with difficulty and had to struggle to find her voice.
She wished that her thoughts didn’t fly directly to Adam in these circumstances. She wished she wouldn’t wonder how he would feel about John courting her. She supposed at the very least, he would worry that he was going to lose another housekeeper.
But maybe, just maybe, John coming to call on her would make her become visible to Adam. Maybe Adam would see her as a woman for once, and notice that another man had found her attractive, even though she had a hard time believing it herself. “I see. Would you like to come in?”
John gave her an appreciative smile and followed her into the front parlor.
Agnes headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea.”
Madeline sat down on the chintz sofa while John sat on the other side of the room in a green upholstered chair. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, while John’s eyes wandered around the room, looking at the framed paintings on the walls, the brass face on the tall-case clock that ticked away in the silence. He gazed at the piano in the corner, then wiggled in his chair as he reached down to touch the rich, velvet upholstery on the seat.
“Mr. Coates has a fine house,” he said.
“It’s very comfortable.”
“It’s more than comfortable. It’s a palace compared to most places around here. Maybe we should start calling him ‘Lord of the Marsh.”’
Not caring for John’s cynical tone, Madeline rubbed a thumb over her fingers. This was going to be a very long hour.
Adam stood under the warm morning sun, his boots firmly planted in the dirt, and removed his hat to wipe his forehead with a sleeve. The wind was nonexistent today. Everything was so damn still. Everything except the insects, which were humming and buzzing a steady cacophony.
Damn his thoughts, for buzzing a cacophony, too.
He hoped Madeline was all right at the house. Maybe he should go and check on things.
No, surely that wasn’t necessary. He was just making excuses to interrupt, to thwart John Metcalf when Adam had no business thwarting anything to do with Madeline.
Whatever improper feelings he had for her, he had to bury, for Adam had already proposed to her sister. More than proposed. He had sent the necessary documents for a proxy marriage to take place, and it was out of his hands now. The proposal was on its way across the deep blue Atlantic, and Adam could not make the ship turn around. Nor should he want to. Diana was supposed to be the true romance of his life, the one he’d always wanted and the one he continued to want at this moment.
The number of times he’d had to convince himself of that lately was beginning to irk him.
He settled his hat back on his head and tried to return to planting, but despite his desire not to think about Madeline anymore, it dawned on him that perhaps Agnes was not in the house with her and John.
Adam hadn’t thought about stipulating that to John or returning to make sure that Agnes was there. What if she was in the barn when John had arrived, and Madeline was alone in the house to greet him? They’d have no chaperon.
Bloody hell, he was no good at this. He’d never played this role before. He hadn’t expected to be in this position until Penelope had matured a number of years. A good number of years.
When he’d sent for Diana, he’d expected a bride, not a ward.
Hell, he was making excuses again. Madeline was not his ward. She was a woman, and sometime over the past few weeks, he’d become all too aware of that fact.
He gazed across the field at Jacob and George working diligently. For a long time, he watched them, then he flinched at the direction of his thoughts again as he asked himself: If the proposal to Diana was not pending, would he go up to the house now and interrupt John’s visit, then begin to court Madeline himself?
His head began to throb. Good God, how was he going to handle this? He reached into his bag for more seed and sprinkled it onto the field.
He knew one thing. He was not—absolutely not!—going to return to the house and make a fool of himself. He was going to stay right here. And dammit, if he knew what was good for him, he was going to wrestle this reckless, taboo infatuation into submission.
Not two minutes later, feeling thoroughly ashamed of his ineffectual will, he dropped a final handful of seed onto the ground and stomped up to the house.
Chapter Ten
Madeline, listening politely to John tell her about his family in Yorkshire, had just raised her teacup to her lips when the front door of the house swung open.
Adam stepped in and paused in the doorway. Their gazes met and locked. He looked a little flustered for a moment, almost angry at himself, then the room went silent.
Madeline set down her cup. Adam glanced briefly at John and nodded, then his boots thumped down the hall toward the kitchen.
She wondered if something was wrong. Should she go to him to ask if he was all right and, if there was a problem, try and help somehow?
Her heart began beating a breakneck rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep, calming breath to allay it, telling herself that Adam’s moods and problems were not hers to sort out, at least not when she had a gentleman caller.
Agnes, who sat beside Madeline on the sofa, said nothing. She didn’t seem startled or surprised. She just drank her tea.
The conversation then resumed.
A few minutes later, Penelope came down the stairs and joined them in the parlor. The sight of the child’s huge brown eyes and the sound of her little girl’s voice brought a smile to Madeline’s face. Penelope told them about the baby’s strong grip, how she had grasped Penelope’s thumb in her hand and not let go even when Penelope had tried to gently shake her off.
Madeline suddenly wondered what Adam was doing in the kitchen all this time. Had he noticed the half-plucked chicken? Was it in his way if he wanted to sit down at the table? Or was he simply listening to their conversation?
“So there’s a good chance my brothers will come, too, if things work out for me here,” John said. Madeline realized she had missed something of the conversation just now.
“Shall we take Mr. Metcalf for a walk?” Penelope suggested. “We could show him the swing.”
“You just want someone to push you,” Agnes said good-naturedly.
“I’ll push you,” John offered.
Penelope stood and Madeline set down her cup to go with them.
“I’ll tend to this,” Agnes offered, tidying up. “You three go out and enjoy the good weather.”
Madeline followed Penelope to the door, but sensed Adam’s presence, watching them. She glanced briefly back at the kitchen, and sure enough, he was standing there, silently sipping coffee, staring at her. His gaze was dark and intense.
Her skin prickled with awareness and a longing to stay behind and ask him if something was wrong, for she sensed he was not himself, but instead, she forced herself to ignore the impulse. There was no sense nurturing the intimacy of their so-called friendship, and feeding forbidden feelings that were already dangerously out of control.
She followed the others outside, where a spotted sandpiper was perched on the stone bench near the birch grove. Penelope began to tiptoe toward it with her hand outstretched, as if to make friends.
Grateful for the distraction, Madeline watched her, then felt John’s gaze upon her face.
“That bird,” he said, “will make a mess on your bench. She doesn’t feed them, does she? That’ll only bring more of them around.”
Madeline kept her gaze fixed on Penelope, whose shoulders slumped in disappointment when the tiny bird flew away.
“I believe she enjoys the music they make,” Madeline told him.
He shrugged at that and followed Madeline, who led the way up the hill, on a footpath through the trees. Along the way, Penelope skipped ahead, stopping in a dusty clearing to pick fragrant, bright yellow chamomile along the edge of the wood.
John talked about how much trouble he was having finding a place to live, and Madeline liste
ned graciously to every word. He told her about all the people he had met at the fort the past week, and the farmers he had met on his quest for good land. He spoke of the farms and the livestock and the crops, told her about his plans and ambitions.
He was a handsome young man, she decided, noticing the way his tawny hair curled around his face in the front. In the back it was tied in a neat queue. Madeline supposed that if there were more young, unmarried women in Cumberland, they would probably be fighting over him.
Madeline ducked under the branches of some birch saplings, then pointed at a towering old oak. “There’s the swing.”
Penelope ran and hopped on. John hurried to catch up, and she laughed when he spun the swing around, then let go. Penelope twirled in dizzying circles, her skirts flapping in the breeze.
Madeline leaned against the thick tree trunk, its bark covered in lichen and small patches of green moss, and felt the cool air caress her cheeks. She watched John pushing Penelope on the swing and wondered about him.
Was this visit the beginning of a courtship, or was he just being neighborly? Unfortunately, she didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing. No young man had ever come to call on her in Yorkshire. Not even once.
John didn’t know about her past, of course. So here he was.
Would it matter, she wondered? If he knew, would he still come? She had heard that single women were scarce commodities here in Cumberland, so perhaps the men would be less choosy and more willing to settle for less. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.
Oh, what a horrible, horrible insult. To both herself and John. She chided herself for it. John was a handsome young man, a very good catch. He was not a “beggar,” and she was not a batch of useless, second-rate goods, even if she was invisible to most men.
She wondered further, if John decided to come calling again after today, and again after that, would she ever tell him what had happened? How would he react? Would he be as understanding and supportive as Adam had been?
You’re in my care now, and I would defend your honor to the death if I had to. I only wish I had known you then…I would have been your champion.
A jovial screech from Penelope pulled Madeline from her thoughts, and she stepped away from the towering oak.
“Perhaps we should go back,” John suggested. “Our hour’s up. I wouldn’t want to displease Mr. Coates on my first day.”
My first day. So he did plan to come again.
Madeline waited for Penelope to hop off the swing and lead the way down the hill, then tried to figure out exactly how she felt about a return visit from John Metcalf.
Agnes was married in a private ceremony in Adam’s home, followed by a wedding breakfast of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, poached salmon, maple-pecan scones and fresh apple spice cake for dessert.
Shortly after noon, she drove off with her new husband and left Madeline behind, in full charge of the household. Madeline immediately settled into her role, cooking all the meals for the family, helping Mary care for the baby and spending time with the children.
One afternoon the following week, Madeline completed her midday chores early and decided to reward herself with a short walk along the road that overlooked the great marsh. Clouds were thick and heavy overhead and the ground was still damp from a morning rain. In the distance, a thick fog encased the forested ridge on the other side of the marsh, and Madeline could smell the salty tang of the sea.
She’d had no time to herself lately, she realized as she watched the toes of her boots peek out from under her skirts with each long stride.
Not that she was complaining. Quite the contrary. The truth was, she enjoyed it. She and Penelope and Charlie had been studying multiplication, and yesterday they decided to hold a spelling bee Tuesday evening after supper as a special entertainment for Adam, who had been away the past few days and would be returning this afternoon.
Adam had traveled to Halifax to meet Nova Scotia’s new lieutenant-governor, the Viscount Blackthorne, and speak with him about establishing a committee to maintain the marshlands. Lord Blackthorne had just arrived from England a month ago, and eager to be an auspicious representative for King George, was familiarizing himself with the colony and addressing land issues.
Adam worried that some of the absentee farmers in Cumberland were neglecting their sections of the marsh, and that their negligence could affect all of the farmers if anything unpredictable occurred.
Adam believed that Lord Blackthorne might be receptive to his concerns, for it was a well-known fact that the aging aristocrat had relations in Yorkshire, and for that reason, seemed genuinely interested in Cumberland and its success. He’d been quoted as saying that “Yorkshire farmers were the best around.”
Madeline walked down the steep ridge to the lowlands, where Adam had taken her riding a few weeks ago.
It seemed like ages had passed since that day, she thought, for they knew each other so much better now.
Hoofbeats came thundering behind her. She turned. Adam sat astride his big horse, his black coat flapping in the wind, looking for all the world like a prince riding toward her. His white shirt was clean and his neckcloth tied in a perfect knot at his collar. There was no dirt or dust on his riding boots today. Even the brass buttons on his coat were polished and shiny.
Her belly swarmed with a fluttering sensation that she tried to beat down.
“Good afternoon, Madeline.” He pulled his horse to a halt beside her.
“Hello, and welcome back.”
“Was everything all right while I was gone?”
“We were fine. How was your trip?”
“Very good, thank you.”
Adam knew he had been avoiding Madeline lately, and had hoped his time in Halifax might have cooled his unwise attraction to her. A part of him had also hoped that his feelings had been induced by John Metcalf’s visit and a basal manly competitiveness that had nothing to do with Madeline specifically; perhaps it was merely a hankering to be young again.
But as Adam gazed down into Madeline’s clear, wide eyes and regarded her gentle, innocent beauty, he felt his body quicken and knew that with or without John Metcalf, this was more than a fleeting infatuation. He had been dreaming if he’d thought a few days in Halifax would eradicate it.
His horse restlessly stomped his hooves. “May I join you? I have much to tell you about my journey.”
“Yes, please, Adam. I’ve been wondering about your progress. Were your ideas well received?”
He dismounted and walked beside her, and told her of his meetings at Government House. Adam had been a guest at two formal dinners, where at one, he sat next to a future English duke.
“Oh, Adam, when you left Yorkshire, did you ever imagine such a thing?”
“No, I did not. I must say, however, that I was pleasantly surprised by the young man’s genuine interest in Nova Scotia and his eagerness to converse with local citizens, regardless of rank or wealth. Life is different here, Madeline. A man without rank can rise to become whatever his ambitions will allow.”
Adam felt a surge of pride for the decision he had made and the risks he had taken bringing his family to an unfamiliar land.
“And what about the marsh?” Madeline asked. “Did you discuss it with Lord Blackthorne? Was he sympathetic to your concerns?”
“He was, indeed. He intends to come soon to see the Tantramar, and I invited him to be our guest.”
Madeline stopped on the road. “Adam! A viscount will be staying with us? My word! What will I feed him?”
Adam laughed. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it. He won’t be here for at least a week.”
“A week! Oh, you’re teasing me now!”
“How can I resist, when you squeal with such sweet charm.”
It was a joke—they both knew it—but Adam could see the blood rushing to Madeline’s cheeks and knew that the compliment had unnerved her. The fact that she was not accustomed to compliments yanked at his heart,
and he wished he could spend the next decade of his life showering her with them.
He attempted to fill the awkward moment with conversation. “I do know that he enjoys our local fiddleheads, as well as corn fritters and brandy snaps, and anything made with blueberries.”
“Well, that gives me something to work with. How long will he stay?”
“Only a few days, long enough to see the marsh and meet some of the local farmers. Then he’ll continue on to the Petticodiac and the Saint John River Valley.”
They spoke more about the events during Adam’s visit to Halifax, and he enjoyed this time alone with Madeline, for he knew he could never conquer how much pleasure he derived from their conversations, nor was there any point in conquering that particular aspect of their relationship. They were supposed to be friends, after all.
Then he had to broach another subject, one that was a little less pleasurable for him. “By the way, I met John Metcalf this morning, on my way by the fort. He was riding to Jollicure. He’s still looking for land.”
“Oh?” By the tone of her response, Adam guessed that Madeline didn’t know anything about Metcalf’s current comings and goings, and Adam couldn’t help feeling a little glad.
“You didn’t see John while I was gone?” he asked.
“No, not at all. I’ve been very busy. Did you stop to speak with him?”
“Yes.” Deliberately, Adam did not elaborate.
“And what did John say?”
It was decidedly rotten of him, making her beg for information like this, but Adam wanted to see just how curious Madeline was about John Metcalf.
Apparently, she was curious enough to press him for the details, and he felt a twinge of disappointment even though he had not wanted to care.
“He asked about you, naturally, and wanted to know if he could visit again tomorrow afternoon and spend another hour with you.”
Madeline stared straight ahead. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him he would have to ask you himself, for I didn’t know what your wishes were, nor did I even know where you were in order to ask you.”
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